


Meeting Halfway

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: Episode Related, Fic, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 07:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He did not want Peter. Wanting Peter would be stupid and doomed to disappointment. Peter was a sexless being, an authority figure, a Fed.</p><p>Spoilers up to 2.02.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meeting Halfway

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to mergatrude for beta. &lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3

**1\. Air**

It was the strangest sensation, feeling air rushing into his lungs. Neal gasped—now there was actually something to gasp—and blinked up at the spots dancing in front of the plain white ceiling; at Peter kneeling over him; at mortality hovering in his peripheral vision. And then back to Peter. Peter's face, Peter's mouth, his eyes.

The calm, stable center of Neal's universe, in a maroon sweater that actually looked great on him.

Neal had spent five restless nights believing Peter had betrayed him, that he had Kate. Five nights wallowing in anger and hopelessness. That had been worse than a room with no air. When Peter produced the ring and an explanation for it, Neal felt thirty pounds lighter, twenty years younger, like he could burst into song. Relief like a drug.

Relief like he could see on Peter's face right now, and the urge to crane up and kiss that mouth, to say _Hi, I'm alive; I'm alive because you saved me_ was as insistent as the too-fast pulse Neal could still hear drumming in his ears. He could almost feel the scratchy line of Peter's jaw under his fingertips, could easily anticipate bringing their mouths together, feeling Peter's lips move against his own. Peter welcoming him back from the dead.

So what if there were agents and boiler room guys around? Neal _wanted_ witnesses.

But before he could do anything, Peter grasped his hand and helped him stand and stagger outside, and the moment passed.

And ten minutes later, Neal was pissed at Peter all over again.

 

**2\. Home run**

"You're sweating," said Neal.

"Yeah." Peter took a slurp of beer, and God, he was in Neal's home, in his space, dripping with sweat, and Neal should not find that sexy. Should not be so starkly aware of Peter's long body, folded up beside him, or the way his broad chest was still heaving from exertion.

"It's a nice couch," said Neal, trying again, but At-Home Peter was Mr. Oblivious. At work, Neal couldn't sneak a single thing past him, but At-Home Peter was apparently immune to hints or even outright complaints. Neal wondered how Elizabeth stood it. Then he breathed in, smelled clean sweat and skin, and his lips started to tingle.

That was how she stood it.

Peter turned the television onto ESPN, and Neal didn't even care, he just wanted to crawl into Peter's lap and kiss his sweaty face, and rub off against his belly. He wanted Peter's sweat all over him, and that freaked him out so much, he grabbed the remote and switched off the TV.

They bickered, and Peter was high-handed, which helped a bit, but Neal still wanted to jump him. "I'm going downstairs," he said. "I can't think, it's too loud—"

"All right." Peter barely looked up from his case file.

Neal stood outside the room, leaning on the wall and making himself be sensible: he did not want Peter. Wanting Peter would be stupid and doomed to disappointment. Peter was a sexless being, an authority figure, a Fed. Neal's Fed! Peter was married to Elizabeth, who Neal liked and who had never been anything but kind to Neal. Peter wasn't someone he should be thinking about like that.

Neal was just horny because he was lonely. He really had to find Kate.

 

**3\. Lights out**

"Neal, your light is off." Peter's diatribe against Fowler came to an abrupt halt when Neal showed him the anklet. Peter narrowed his eyes. "Why isn't it transmitting?"

Neal shrugged, unwilling to explain in words that could be used against him later. "You're not going to arrest me?"

"I can't," said Peter. "I don't have a badge." He got up and started pacing the tiny patio, apparently not even considering the option of calling in someone who did still have a badge. Even now, Peter wouldn't let anyone else arrest him.

Neal nearly followed him, nearly crowded him against the wall of the house and pressed against him from head to foot, nearly took his mouth and kissed them both breathless. The anklet and the badge were suspended—that meant the rules had changed. But either mechanism could be reinstated at any time. For all Neal knew, this might be his only chance to take advantage of this gray area. Peter's wool coat would be rough against his palms, his mouth would taste of coffee, perhaps, or maybe just of himself, and right now, in this moment, there was no reason to hold back. Neal was pretty sure he could get past Peter's defenses and seduce him. Nothing was stopping them.

Nothing but Elizabeth.

Neal swallowed hard, pulled himself together and mentally replayed Peter's last question. _You really think he's going to let you and Kate go?_

Kate.

Nothing was stopping them but Elizabeth and Kate.

He met Peter's gaze. "I need to know, if she's—" _If I'm—_

 

**4\. Hold on**

"Do you really want this to end?" asked Peter.

Neal's nerves jangled. "Let's do it!"

He smacked the dye packs together in Renee's face, and within seconds, Peter had her gun and the rest of the team were in there, arresting her and reading her rights.

"Nice job," Peter told Neal, shifting from frustrated bickering to warm approval like a switch had been thrown.

Neal clamped down on his reaction: it was the adrenaline rush of surviving yet another gun aimed at him; it was the triumph of solving the crime and catching Walker out; hell, it was the sheer bliss of being out of prison, after months of cramped boredom and frustration and grief. Neal was back from the dead again, and that always made him want to kiss Peter.

He didn't need Peter's approval; he just had a lot of feelings to deal with. That was the real reason he wanted to grab Peter and push him back against the bank deposit boxes and slide his tongue into Peter's mouth, get his hands under that new suit. Take both of them by surprise.

"Not so bad yourself," he said, and stepped outside before Peter could read his expression.

 

**5\. Lie to me**

"I've never lied to you," said Neal. He kept his hands in his pockets.

Peter was flustered, caught out. "Not everything's a conspiracy."

"I hope that's true." Neal turned to look through the glass wall, out across the office. Turning his back on Peter was becoming a bad habit, one of his tells, but it was still a hundred times safer than letting Peter see his face. He couldn't disguise the fact that Peter playing games and keeping secrets did things to him.

It shouldn't but it did. Discovering that Peter was being—or was trying to be—sneaky meant that Neal wasn't the only one making compromises, wasn't the only one changing to fit their partnership. Neal might be slowly, inevitably becoming the guy Peter wanted him to be, somewhere between sinner and saint, but Peter wasn't wholly impervious, and that—that was a rush.

Maybe Peter was susceptible in more ways than one. Maybe they could meet in the middle.

 

**6\. External consulting**

Neal hadn't seen Elizabeth since her biggest client had moved to the West Coast and tried semi-successfully to take her with him, but she was back in town for a couple of days. Neal didn't want to take away from the little time she and Peter had together, but he really needed to talk to her.

They met at a coffee shop near her office. "Long time, no see," she said, threading her way between the tables. She sat down and gave him a smile.

"Nice tan," said Neal. He signaled the waiter to bring another cup of coffee. "How've you been?"

"Enjoying San Francisco. Working hard," she said. "What did you want to talk about?"

Neal emptied a sugar packet into his coffee and stirred it, to occupy his hands. "I'm in trouble." He watched her carefully, gauging her response. "I keep wanting to kiss Peter."

Elizabeth's right eyebrow inched up, but she didn't seem particularly angry or alarmed. "Why are you telling me?"

Neal swallowed his embarrassment and gave her a small rueful smile. "I was hoping you'd tell me to snap out of it."

"Snap out of it," she said promptly.

Neal nodded, almost relieved. That was pretty much what he'd expected.

Elizabeth accepted her coffee from the waiter and studied Neal for a few moments. "So how's that working out for you?" She shook her head and sipped her coffee. "Neal, Peter already knows that anything he does while I'm out of town is up to him."

"You—" Neal blinked. "Oh. I didn't know." That meant—that meant there really was nothing standing in the way. Nothing that mattered. He and Peter both knew he'd negotiated his freedom with OPR, that the current parole arrangement was lip service to the DoJ's rule book. Peter still joked about putting Neal back in prison, but he wouldn't. Neal knew he wouldn't. So if Elizabeth didn't object, then everything hinged on Peter. On whether Peter wanted him.

Elizabeth leaned forward and patted his hand, her smile a perfect blend of kind, serious and amused. "I really think you should have this conversation with him."

 

**7\. Breathe**

Two days later, with Elizabeth back in California and Peter allegedly on his own for the evening, Neal let himself in Peter's front door. Peter looked up from case files and the game, and Neal brandished the bottle of wine he'd brought and said, "I let myself in. Hope you don't mind."

"Neal, what are you doing here?" Peter's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but Neal thought that was mostly habit. "Do you have some new crime to confess?"

"Not a crime," said Neal. He went into the kitchen and found a corkscrew and a couple of glasses and then came back and sat next to Peter. "Don't try to pretend Elizabeth didn't tell you about our conversation."

"What conversation?" asked Peter. "Wait, you talked to Elizabeth?"

Neal sat back. "She really didn't tell you? Wow, I was not expecting that."

"Perhaps she thought you should tell me yourself." Peter sighed, apparently resigned to some new disaster. "What's this about, Neal?"

Neal poured two glasses of Syrah and left them on the coffee table to breathe. Then he turned to Peter, and let everything he wanted show. Peter's sharp intake of breath was probably all the encouragement he was going to get, so he put one hand on the back of couch and leaned in slowly. "It's about this."

And finally, finally kissed him.

After a moment's hesitation, Peter's lips softened under his, moved and yielded, and then Peter's hands were in his hair and they were really kissing. Neal slid his tongue into Peter's mouth, and their arms tangled as they tried to pull each other closer, and it was incredible, better than he'd imagined. Peter could _kiss_! Neal groaned, weak with desire and relief, but willing to fake it, to be strong if that was what Peter wanted. Willing to do just about anything.

Then Peter pushed him off, held him at arm's length, panting, and all the air seemed to rush out of the room. Neal went cold.

"Tell me this is for real," said Peter, low and intense. "Tell me you're not playing me, you're not going to use this against me or hold it over me."

"I'm not," said Neal. The separation—barely a foot of space between them—was killing him. "I'm not playing you, Peter, I swear."

He meant it with every fiber of his being, and thank God, Peter believed him. Peter's head dipped, a warm light starting to burn in his eyes, affection and pleasure in the curve of his lips, mirroring Neal's own. "Okay," he said. "Okay, I just needed to be sure."

"I swear," said Neal again. He pushed Peter's arm aside and moved in again, and Peter met him halfway, his hands hungry on Neal's body, bringing him back to life.

 

END


End file.
